Something New
by wonderstance
Summary: She was a pop idol working undercover. He was a detective at large. "We're just moving pieces, sailing from one distraction to the next. Some people drink, some people screw, some people...eat sweets." LxOC.


**AN: **I honestly feel like I took L OOC but I'm ascribed to the belief that L, pre-face-reveal (or pre ch. 11), has a completely different persona than the one he shows (and I honestly don't care what Ohba/bata say about it lmao).

* * *

Somewhere in another dimension far, far away, a shinigami cackled.

An idol in bubblegum-pink latex minidress, hair tied in two curly pigtails, wearing a face-full of stage makeup. Too many sparkles, too many hair clips, too many shades of contour _everywhere_. She stood, hovering over a pale, dark-haired recluse of a detective sitting on one knee before his Mac. Both of them had their eyes glued to the screen.

A picture of a fat, bald man sat before them. He wore an impeccable designer suit. "So?" said the girl. "What are your thoughts?"

L took a sip of tea. "Well, the skirt's a bit short." He looked up, his gaze vague and expressionless. "I can see your panties."

Minju didn't bat a lash. "They're safety shorts."

He tinkered with the sugar contents of his tea, adding two cubes. "I wasn't aware of the nomenclature."

"Cut me some slack. I came on a redeye. Didn't have time to change." She motioned to the screen of her laptop, the face of a beady old businessman sitting center screen. "So? You think this is enough evidence to put him behind bars?"

L picked up his teacup. "Your jurisdiction ends once the arrest takes place. The rest is left to the courts," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "That being said, it's likely enough for a conviction. Given the nature of the justice system in Korea, I'd say you're looking at three years of probation."

She made a face. "That's all?"

He peered at her, wondering if he'd said something funny. "Yes, that would be all."

"Unacceptable. He tricked three girls into slave contracts and had them drugged and whored out to sponsors," she kneeled down by the screen of the desktop, getting a closer look at the image of that same man, a fat wart sitting on his chin. "How sure are you?"

"Eighty percent," he took another sip of tea. "Though I assumed you wouldn't want to hear it. In the end, his involvement is only tangential. At the very least, you're looking at harder sentencing for the others who were directly involved. The drug dealer, the procurer, the club where all this took place."

She lowered her gaze to her pink latex dress, suddenly finding it hard to look at him. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, having looked at other cases of this nature—"

"No, you said I wouldn't want to hear it. Why?"

He stood up and peered at her open neckline from the edge of his teacup. "You've reacted negatively more than once." A pause. "Five times, actually. Six if you count the time you fell and chipped your tooth on the stairwell. I suppose the broken vases speak for themselves."

A blush kissed her cheeks pink, though she decided not to dwell on those memories for long. "Probation isn't enough. This asshole owns their _lives_. He's going to keep whoring out trainees until the next asshole takes over. I need him behind bars." A pause. "He's the worst kind of menace, a real fucking danger to society hiding in plain sight."

L considered it, that listless gaze of his shifting to the ceiling. "Video evidence could be effective. Court judges are parsing through hundreds of cases a day. Having the images upfront could be more visceral."

She untucked one of the hundred bobby pins in her hair, loose strands coming undone by her face. "So…something more measurable." The thought made her sick.

"Correct."

A moment passed between them. Even as they looked in different directions - her eyes never left the fat man on the screen; his remained steadfast towards nothing in particular - they had fallen on the same wavelength. Until he looked at the open neckline of her dress again.

"A bit less obvious, please," she said, patting him gently on the shoulder. "Are you working on any cases right now?"

L looked away from her chest in no particular rush. "A few."

Typical. He never deigned to discuss the nature of their contents. Even as a child, he'd been closely guarded.

She gazed at his '_office_,' sheltered in the cloak of darkness, that single desktop sitting on the floor, connected to haphazard wires across the hardwood. Even so, L walked around barefoot with not a care in the world.

It was always small, unobtrusive moments when the images decided to spawn in her mind: young girls pouring drinks, handsy men pawing at their thighs, and then, crying. Crying until they were begging them to stop. They never did.

L lost interest in their shared silence, putting his teacup aside on the floor to grab a shortcake from the bar cart on the far side of the room. "Your face has become known in the public sphere. People will get suspicious if you keep switching from group to group," he said, studying a particularly fat cream puff on the cake. "Are you taking the proper precautions?"

"I usually leave before the group debuts," she said. "No public records, maybe except a few unpublished promo photos." She gazed down at the latex pink dress. She wouldn't miss it, though some sad part of her genuinely enjoyed dressing up and playing the part on stage. "Some companies think having me around is a curse. The girl who's never debuted."

L considered it as he chomped into the cream puff. "Then it's possible you're due for a career transition. Call your contacts. Ask them if they're looking for someone to work behind-the-scenes."

It was a remarkably simple solution for someone who looked like he'd never spent even a minute listening to a pop song in his life. But perhaps that was the absurdity of it all. She wasn't surprised, but she was still impressed. His intelligence never stopped being a novelty.

She closed the photo of fat man from his desktop and stood back up. "Gotta catch another flight. Send Wammy my best, will you?" She looked around his room again, the emptiness of that darkness, save the faint hum of the computer fan. Once upon a time, she would have told him to take care of himself, but she knew he was, and she'd come to terms with it.

Her consultations were always short but it gave her reason to keep in touch with Wammy, but it gave her even better reason to keep in touch with him. As she leaned closer, she found he smelled like cotton, like fresh laundry and winter. It was strange for a guy of his disposition, but she'd grown rather fond of it.

Her phone went off. A barrage of new texts.

_Hey baby, had fun last night. Wanna meet up for drinks?_

_Thinking bout you cutie_

_DTF?_

_When u free? Lets meet at the motel_

* * *

Journalists weren't the easiest to sus out - some were compromised; others refused to budge from their code of ethics - but having the right sources were invaluable and they had plenty of them. Their job was publishing the truth; her job was accelerating justice, or at least some semblance of it.

An older woman named Hayoon, who carried herself with a certain elegance that Minju simply did not possess, sat before her. Her pantsuits were finely tailored, with a little bit of color in the _Hermes _scarf she wore; her makeup was always bare and pretty; her posture was stiff and straight.

"Here they are."

A manila envelope came before her. Minju untucked the flaps and peered inside at the list of photos and names.

A server in the café came before them with their orders: a hot cup of green tea and an iced americano. Minju continued parsing through the papers in their envelope when the server took his leave.

"A girl was hospitalized last month after passing out in the backroom of the club. Rape kit came out positive along with drugs in her system," Hayoon said, taking a sip of her tea. "You'll want to look through those papers carefully."

"Trainee?"

Hayoon wiped away the bit of lipstick on the rim of her cup. "An idol. The company said she was taking an extended break for 'health' reasons."

"Of fucking course they did."

Minju felt a chill and paused to look over her shoulder to see who was watching. Their server, a pimply teen, was staring at her longingly from the register. When she met his gaze, he blushed and looked away.

"When you get to my age, you'll find that your instinct is the best thing you can rely on," said Hayoon. "Something tells me their new group is on the chopping block. I wouldn't be surprised if they start using them as bait soon."

Minju drank her americano, leaning back into her seat. Hayoon had finished her tea. She came around the table to pat Minju on the shoulder. "I'm waiting on confirmation from one more source before I publish this," she said stiffly. "I'd say you have two weeks."

* * *

Somewhere out there in another dimension…

…that shinigami was cackling again.

"_Baaaaaam_! Steal your heart. We're Cupid Coupe! Please take care of us!"

The girls bowed.

Then came the picture-perfect smiles that they'd probably practiced nearly a hundred times over in front of the mirror.

'_Watch your fucking eyes! Don't let them disappear when you smile!'_

Minju remembered those words; they never quite disappeared, even when she stood in the shadow of the camera.

One of the youngest girls in her group - a spritely teenager named Jimin - came to Minju pouting after her segment. "You look really tired, unnie." She linked arms with her. "Where'd you go last night? Were you meeting a secret boyfriend?"

"I wish," Minju chuckled. "I took a walk around Hongdae and got lost."

"If you think I'm that dumb…"

Minju ushered her away. "Go. I think they're asking for you."

The cameramen were waving her over. When Jimin ran off, Minju decided to head backstage.

None of the sponsors had come - these award shows had always been too "gratuitous" for them - but she might have preferred it that way. Even if the waiting room was cramped with dozens, hundreds, of pretty girls in pretty dresses, they were all excited. Talking, gossiping, laughing. She felt at ease watching them all from a distance, knowing that there was no one here to impress.

It never lasted, of course.

* * *

The club smelled of smoke and sweat.

She wore a velvet dress. In the dim light of the club, it looked black, even if it was navy blue; but the plunging neckline made her look older than she really was.

These men in particular generally avoided her - the dress _was_ a bit sexy and she really wasn't their type. So there she leaned against the bar, watching them by the couches a distance away. They were smoking, three cups of whiskey sitting in front of them. It looked expensive. She thought it was pretentious, as she sniffed her cheap fake-beer.

Two younger girls sat beside the men. The glasses in their hands were full, untouched.

Their skirts were riding up, no safety shorts underneath. It had taken every ounce of strength for Minju to not intercept, to swat them away; but she knew better. They could easily restrain her, beat her. They had – _what_ – a hundred pounds on her? Maybe more. She had tried and failed before and it had been costly. She'd spent nearly a week in a hospital and the bruises didn't fade until months later.

"Haven't see you around. You new?"

It was another sponsor. She recognized him from the pictures her sources sent. He was younger, handsome. Sleepy eyes, lean muscles, fitted suit. He wasn't half bad on the eyes, but it didn't take her long to see the wedding band on his ring finger.

"I'm their manager," she said.

"Kind of young to be a manager, aren't you?" He was all bravado, a casual sort of indifference that tasted like bullshit. "I thought you were an idol."

"Tried my hand, but never got the chance to debut," she replied, nursing her drink. "I wasn't talented enough. And I _hate_ singing."

It was a number of half-truths; she wasn't talented, she didn't particularly enjoy performing, and most of all, she _hated_ pandering to people she didn't know. She shifted her gaze to the ring on his finger, "So is that Tiffany's? Cartier?"

They shared a moment as he studied her face. "You would've made a terrible idol."

"What makes you say that?"

He shrugged, "You're smarter than you look."

Minju laughed, genuinely. "If you'll excuse me for a moment." She kept the smile on as she passed the girls, each one of them catering do a different businessman. The older ones understood well what it meant; they kept a fair distance but did what was expected of them: they poured drinks, they laughed at their jokes, and they let them touch them.

Sometimes on the thighs, sometimes on the arm, sometimes a hug. They'd been fortunate enough tonight with no encounters of recklessness, though she was loathe to admit that hadn't always been the case.

The younger ones, Jimin especially, were unable to hide their unease, that sort of queasiness on their face that was a pass between nausea and discomfort. The men of the club had been fairly tame tonight, but that belied something sinister and foul. It was always the most unobtrusive moments that were the most dangerous.

One moment a man was coercing a girl to drink; the next, he was grabbing her by the scruff of her hair. _'Fucking drink, whore.'_ Violence had not been uncommon in her line of work. The only singularity was the other men looking away.

Jimin kept her distance from the other men. She did not speak, only stared at her lap, her drink untouched, the cup thick with condensation. One of them scooted over, passing her a glass. "This whiskey's nearly forty-years old. Have a taste, girl. It's good."

"_Jimin-ah_!"

Minju tripped over her feet but caught herself at the last minute before she could fall. She'd gotten quite good at fake-tripping in heels. "Apologies, I'm feeling a bit lightheaded. Will you come with me to the bathroom? I'm afraid I might not be able to find the toilet alone."

"What a freaking lightweight!" One of them laughed. "Go, girl. Take care of your manager. She looks like she needs it."

It was only then Minju noticed all of them wore wedding bands.

_Of course_ they fucking did.

"Unnie, you're always getting lost," Jimin said, knitting her brows. She bowed at the businessman. "My apologies. I'll be back soon." She stood and snaked her skinny little arm through Minju's. In the quietest voice, as they left the room together, she whispered, "Thank you, unnie."

* * *

Minju stared at the screen of her two desktops.

One was a picture of the handsome businessman she'd met that night by the bar. The one with the ring on his finger. His name was Suho, the heir to a telecommunications company. The other was a white screen, one single letter sitting cloister-black in the center: _L_.

She picked up her cup of vodka and took a deep sip.

It tasted like rubbing alcohol, but it was cheap and wouldn't get her fat. Even now, with so few eyes on her, she'd felt the scorn of gaining weight.

"L?"

A tick. "I asked that you refer to me as Asahi when you're not home."

She was just beginning to feel a bit tipsy, a weightlessness coming over her.

"Just wanted to make sure you were there."

A pause.

"What part of _this channel is not to be used unless in case of emergencies_ don't you understand? If you've nothing left to discuss, then I suggest calling back when you do."

It was nice being behind a computer screen since that meant he couldn't see her face contort. But at the same time, she couldn't see what he was thinking either, not that she ever got a good read on him. He had an excellent poker face.

"You think I should bug the rooms?"

A pause from the other side. "If you trust your source—"

"—I do."

"You won't have much trouble finding a spycam shop in Korea. Catch them in the act. Make sure it's clear that these rapes are premeditated. Evidence from phones could be valuable," he said. "If I may ask, why are you seeking approval at this point? This is the eighth time you've run an operation like this."

He was right.

"Sorry," she said softly; truth is, she didn't really have a reason or an excuse. "I didn't mean to bother you."

The dreaminess was beginning to wear off fast. Talking to L was always a lesson in sobriety.

She shut off her desktop quickly and sat there ruminating. Sweat clung to her forehead; she had at least a new layer of grease forming on her face; and she looked like fresh shit on a hot day.

There was a knock.

She headed to the door. It was Haemin, one of the older girls, the same age as her. "You have a visitor," she said, yawning loudly.

Minju smiled weakly, patting Haemin on the head and ushering back into her bunk down the hall. When she came to the door, she saw the heir from the other night waiting outside their door from the little video screen plastered against the wall. She hesitated a moment, smelled her own breath, and shrugged.

She opened up. "How'd you find this address?"

"I have some friends in high places," he didn't miss a beat. "Wanna go for a walk?"

Somewhere out there, in the vast expanse of the infinite universe…

…or maybe just down the hall…

She could hear Jimin and the other girls cackling.

* * *

When she looked at Suho, she found herself feeling flighty.

He was handsome, but also fairly attainable. Maybe because he wasn't wearing a tailored suit or maybe because he didn't seem to care much who looked his way, but when she looked down at his wedding band, she felt her stomach turn.

"Well? What did you want?" She asked. "It's a weird time to visit."

He laughed, "No need to be—"

"A bitch?"

"Prickly is more like it," he said. "I just wanted to chat. I'm planning to start my own company and was hoping you could give some insights on recruiting trainees."

She gazed at him, skeptically. Over time, she'd gotten quite good at reading people. "Is that true?"

"It is."

Again, she studied his face. He didn't meet her gaze, instead, staring into the distance at the car lights in the traffic. "Fine." A smile. "You got me. I just wanted to talk."

They crossed the street together. He offered her a hand, but she didn't take it, instead, stuffing hers in her jean pockets. "I prefer when guys are upfront with me."

Suho laughed. "Women say that but they rarely ever mean it."

When he noticed she wasn't laughing, he put his hands up sheepishly. "It was a joke. Sorry." When he noticed she still had her eyes narrowed, he went on: "An unfunny joke, okay? I get it. I'm not funny."

It wasn't that she had no sense of humor; she just didn't particularly enjoy when they were made at the expense of her own gender.

"I was thinking we could have dinner together," he said, blushing. "No fancy business, I promise. Just dinner. Between friends."

Her smile was faint. "Men say that but they rarely ever mean it."

He looked at her, as if awaiting her approval, and laughed.

* * *

She awakened in a fog, morning just breaking over the horizon. In a few hours, the girls would be up and she'd have to take them to their schedules. Jimin was supposed to guest on some cheap variety show today and the older girls were off to the studios to record and take promo photos for their next comeback.

She had been like them, once upon a time. Getting wheeled around in those big black vans, sitting around, _waiting around_ \- there was always an unnecessary amount of waiting - and watching her weight in between. Now she was the one driving the van.

A pulsing pain came over her, the aftermath of a brutal hangover. She groaned into her pillow, her cries muffled. She needed to scrub away the grime on her skin. She looked and smelled like shit.

But first, breakfast. The girls had to eat.

* * *

"Unnie, you look _really_ tired."

_Not this again_. Minju sighed. "Don't you have something else to do?"

The other girls were napping in the break room. They'd woken up at the break of dawn to get their hair and makeup done; they got their sleep where and when they could. Not Jimin, though. She'd always had a little too much blood sugar running through her veins. "I'm bored," she said, parsing through nearly hundreds of messages on her cell phone.

Minju lowered six lunch boxes from the convenience store onto the table before them before taking the empty seat next to Jimin. "Why do you have _four hundred_ unread texts?"

Jimin didn't bat a lash. "Some fans leaked my number." She said it so matter-of-factly, as if it were no bother at all.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier? We'll get you a new number after your schedules tomorrow."

A shrug. "They'll just buy it again from some other carrier. It's happened before." She moved on fairly quick, her eyes lighting up. "So who was that guy last night? Secret boyfriend? I _knew_ it was a secret boyfriend. It always is. It's that guy from the club, right? He was pretty cute, kind of old, but I don't judge. What did he want? Are you—"

"Jimin, please," it was often best to kill an idea in her head before it could take root. "Why are you so curious about my love life?"

The young girl considered it a moment, puckering her lips. "Because I want to live vicariously through you." Those puckered lips turned into a pout. "I want to date too, but I can't."

'_You have an image to maintain.'_

The words came before her, though she had no intent to say them aloud. Surely, Jimin already knew.

"I bet you're really popular, unnie. You have the kind of face that boys like."

She had hit the target, albeit the wrong one. Minju was fairly popular, but not among boys. Among men. It was always men. She was a bit more mature for her age, and she carried herself carefully. For whatever reason, that always made them pursue her more.

"You're popular too, Jimin."

"I know," suddenly, the young girl perked up, the glitter on her eyes reflecting the fluorescent lights. She leaned against Minju's shoulder, yawning softly. "Do you have a type, unnie? Bad boy? Nerd? Athlete?"

Before Minju could think of a response, Jimin sat up straight. "Wait, let me guess." She looked at her intently in the eye. "_Mmmmmmmmm_. Is it tall, dark, handsome?" Her gaze fell on her pants. "Someone smart, but not smarter than you."

Minju wanted to laugh. "It may surprise you but I'd want my boyfriend to be smarter than me."

Jimin shook her head. "My mom says that your husband should always be a bit dumber than you. It's the key to a happy life."

Truth is, Minju didn't particularly have a type. She started dating older guys at fifteen. When she moved to Korea, it'd been mostly businessmen. One had been fairly kind, but he moved on to someone younger three days after she turned eighteen. The others came in similar shades of vanilla. She tried dating another idol just once, but he was clingy and couldn't understand the nature of her work. Not that she trusted him enough to give all the details.

Turns out dating was a drag. But being single was a bigger drag.

"Unnie?"

"Hm?"

Jimin sighed. "Do you think they'll make us go again? To that club in Gangnam?"

Minju decided not to lie. "Yes."

Another sigh. "Why?"

"Well, sponsors give you money to pay for the music videos you shoot, the cars you ride, and the stylists that dress you," Minju answered. "They take a risk, so the company sends you to entertain them in return."

Jimin considered it. "Okay."

Minju found her stomach turning. It scared her how easily the young girl accepted that fact.

* * *

The restaurant was chic, one of those weird fusion places that served tapas pizzas alongside a plane of different flavored Belgium beers. Minju wore leather, put on minimal makeup, and wore a golf cap to cover her oily hair.

She'd taken a shot before she left the dorm and rushed out with little time to put herself together properly. Suho came in, wearing a full suit, tailored of course, the top two buttons of his white dress shirt loose. She met his gaze; his face lit up and he came to her table quickly, not before waving over two bottles of soju.

Just as she stood to apologize for looking so sloppy, he interjected, "Sorry I'm late. Wow! You're a lot prettier without makeup, Minju."

'_But I'm wearing makeup,'_ she wanted to say.

But instead she just smiled and took her seat.

* * *

The sex was…okay.

It wasn't bad, but it wasn't good either. He didn't care much for her pleasure, which was fine - she could take care of that herself - but he wasn't particularly eager for foreplay either. Like most men, he just wanted to get inside her and fuck her.

Even with his grunts, soft and wet, she closed her eyes and thought of someone else, _anyone else_. The harder she closed her eyes, the easier it was for her to escape. He snaked his hand up her waist until he grabbed her breast. With his other hand, he grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I want you to look at me," he said.

Handsome as he was, nausea came over her. It was violent, the saliva trickling down the side of her face like a spout. A loud grunt came soon afterward and he collapsed onto the pillows of the hotel bed, cock flaccid in the condom.

He leaned over to press a kiss to her forehead, but she turned away. "That good?"

She didn't smile as she moved to grab her clothes. "Mmhmm."

No more than thirty minutes later, he was asleep, snoring softly in the comfort of the hotel bed. She cleaned herself off in the shower, clutching herself in the tub alone while cold water drained whatever color was left on her cheeks.

Another wave of nausea came over her.

She tried to climb over the edge of the tub. But it was too late. Her vomit sputtered all over the floor and in between the tiles.

But she had no time to pity herself. As she clambered up, she washed the contents of her own stomach off her skin, brushed her teeth, tied her hair into a heavy wet bun, and tugged on her jacket. Suho was still snoring in bed.

She took his phone, which sat flat on the countertop next to his bed and departed the room without another word.

As she scrolled through the contents, she found a picture of him with his daughter at the beach. In the following photos, there was a woman kissing him on the cheek. She looked at the timestamp. These photos were taken only three days ago.

* * *

Back in her room, she stared at the screensaver of her desktop while Suho's phone records were being uploaded onto her hard drive. She was nursing another cup of vodka, the contents singing her nose hairs.

It was at times like this when it all felt so empty, like there was nothing else to look forward to, not even the morning. Like she was floating in a void of nothingness, spinning, spinning, spinning…

The screen lit up.

A _'W'_ in cloister black appeared on screen.

"Minju." A pause. "I've received the contents."

"I'll need the names and contact information of every person in those group chats," she said, chewing on her lower lip. "I'll have some video documentation over the next few days."

"Understood."

"One more thing."

"Yes?"

Minju clenched her fists, digging her nails deep into her palm, and watched in morbid fascination as the marks vanished from sight just as quickly as they came.

"Thank you," she said.

But what she wanted to say was she was homesick; she _missed_ him; she missed home, whatever that meant.

She didn't because she knew once she said those words aloud, they would be true.

"You're welcome, Minju."

His screen vanished to black.

* * *

She dreamed of her first time, which had been no more fulfilling than her last.

It had been cold, in a room that was too air-conditioned. The shades had been blackout curtains, not a drop of sunlight peeking through; she remembered she could only see him in the dim light of the desk lamp sitting on the far side of the floor.

She had been startlingly sober at the time, the details clear in her mind.

She was straddling his lap, blood all over the sheets beneath them, as he sat inside her fully erect. As it turned out, blood was a terrible lubricant. The women before her had said the bleeding was a myth, some kind of novelty told to younger women to convince them that passion and love could conquer any wound. But that was another one of their lies. She bled enough to soak the bed wet.

They'd both been fairly silent while droplets of blood came down the side of his thighs.

She was too scared to make a sound, too scared to whimper from the pain.

What if he hated this?

What if this was just as awful for him as it was for her?

Her face went hot. Tears formed in her eyes.

A slow hand came up her waist as he stroked the small of her back. Gently, _awkwardly_, as if he were stroking a cat. "If you're in pain, we can stop."

She found it difficult to look at him properly. She knew he pitied her. She wanted to tell him no but instead she swallowed a hiccup and tried not to unravel and cry right in front of him.

Her gaze wandered all over the room until they fell to the floor.

His toes were curled.

All those songs about sex and love never did the pain any proper justice; even as she bled three days after, she had become rather fond of the memory.

He had been a good one, maybe the only.

When she woke up, she broke into a cold sweat. As if she'd been in that same exact air-conditioned room from so long ago. Moonlight poured in from her window, casting a shadow where her over her waist, her thighs.

Delicately, she slid down her hand down her lower abdomen until she reached her underwear. She played with the hem before slipping her hand inside.

* * *

The job was simple from here on out. She had bugged all the backrooms and had three people looking out in a van outside the club. When they gathered sufficient video evidence, they'd send her a text, she'd accidentally "wander" into the room, and bail out the girl in question.

Minju would have to tread carefully now. Even as she sat with Suho, is hand hovering over the small of her back, she remained alert. "Look," he said, showing her his new touch-screen phone. "This one's not even out in production yet."

"What happened to the last one?" She asked. It didn't hurt to make small talk.

"Lost it," he sighed. "Honestly, I'm just sad that I won't be able to get my pictures back."

She lost interest as her gaze fell around the room at the old men by the back of the bar. Some of them had their suit jackets removed. Others were in their wife beaters, laughing as they threw down shot after shot of expensive whiskey. Haemin and the older girls should have been in the backrooms of the bar by now.

She checked her phone. No new messages.

"You've been acting distant, Minju," he said. "Did I say something to upset you?"

"Not at all."

"Ah. I guess you've always been on the quiet side. But that's what I like about you." He reached out to brush a lock of hair behind her ear. "You're honest."

A text.

_It's done._

She smiled. "Excuse me a moment, will you? I have to run to the restroom." Before he could answer, she made a bee-line for the backroom bars.

She made a mental headcount; three of the girls were missing, but they were sitting in one of the booths. Haemin was sitting near the bar with two associates. She counted the girls off the top of her head. They were all here except Jimin.

She picked up her pace, opening each door down the hallway until she reached the last. There, Jimin was sitting with an old businessman, warts all over his unruly chin, his hand running up her thigh. "Oi! What's your deal?" He called out. It was only when he stood up that Jimin's body slumped over the cushions of the couch.

"Sorry," Minju slurred. "I thought this was the restroom."

"Get out of here!"

"Jimin?" She called.

No response.

The man came over, towering over her. She had a small pistol hidden in the leg of her dress; if it came down to it, she would take the right measures. "Jimin-ah!" She called again, smiling meekly. "Come, let's go to the bathroom together!"

No response.

The men raised his fist high in the air. "I said get the fuck out of here!"

Her hands raced for the gun but stopped at the last minute. If she shot him, the operation was over. The evidence wouldn't matter at that point; he'd be dead. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction. She wanted him wasted away behind bars until there was nothing left except dust.

His fist came crashing down on head, knocking her into the acrylic tiles of the club floor.

"Unnie…"

Through the black stars in her eyes, she saw that Jimin had awakened. She pushed herself up from the couch. "Unnie, I'll go get help!" She cried, tripping over her own two feet.

_'No, no, no, no...stay down.'_

But the man grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. "Where the fuck do you think you're going you dipshit?" Jimin came crashing to the floor on her knees, but picked herself up, desperately scrambling towards the door. "Hey!" The man shouted, but Jimin was already on her way out.

'_You're going to rot in jail,'_ Minju thought as her head began to throb.

There was a sound of crashing outside.

Then, silence.

A scream pierced the air.

* * *

Two days later, Jimin was dead.

In her mad scramble, she had tripped, hit her head on the corner of the table, and died.

One moment she was alive. The next, she was dead.

A freak accident.

Minju tossed back another sip of vodka hiding in her water bottle – _her seventh, eighth?_ – she had lost count by this point. It helped numb away the absurdity.

Cupid Coupe had risen in popularity after the news was announced, even though their president was forced to resign. Minju handed over her resignation the next day. Few people asked her questions. They assumed she blamed herself. They were right.

Over the bustle of the café, Hayoon handed her the paper.

_Company president arrested soliciting minors to sponsors_

Minju's mind was clouded. She turned away, thinking of something else, though she'd lost her train of thought just as quickly as it came. What was it? Something about the summer air.

_Unnie, I bet you're really popular_.

Sometimes, even in the midst of nothing, she could still hear Jimin's voice. She could still see her, in the darkness of her own room. Sometimes, she could feel her leaning against her shoulder, yawning.

Their server came with their drinks: an iced americano and a green tea.

When Minju reached for the americano, Hayoon stopped her and switched the cups. "Tea is good for you," she said. "Drink it."

Minju didn't fight her, but she didn't make a move to drink the tea either. Instead, she popped open her water bottle filled with vodka and chugged the rest of the contents. They sat at a stalemate - Hayoon in her new Hermes scarf, Minju wearing the same leather jacket she'd worn three days in a row in the summer heat - while the server took his leave, not quite sensing the tension.

"If you need help, I know incredible therapists—"

Minju stood from the table, wobbling gently, "Just let me know when you get your next tip."

But Hayoon grabbed her hand, stopping her in place.

"No one will fight for these girls," she said. "They may not know what you've done, but I do. And I won't forget it." And then: "Please don't blame yourself."

'_Don't blame myself?'_ The thought made Minju smile wryly. What a ridiculous thought. Had she not run in on them, Jimin would've been alive and breathing. Living her dreams. She would've been nosying around: _Unnie, where were you last night?_ Then she would've forgotten her. Now she would never have that luxury.

She would've been alive.

* * *

He never picked her up from the airport. It was never quite his style. Most of the times, it was a page from the office. On occasions like this, it was Wammy, carrying a wet umbrella from the torrential rain.

Minju caught sight of him and smiled.

It wasn't until her cheek made contact with his finely pressed white shirt that she felt every fiber in her relax. She resisted the urge to unravel in front of him; it was all too much and she didn't want his first impression of her after so many years to be one of despair.

"It's nice to have you home, Minju."

She met his gaze and felt like a child again.

They left the airport together while she clutched his arm to her chest. It had been years since she last saw him; when he wasn't minding the orphanages, he was attending L. And when he wasn't attending L, he was traveling to the many other orphanages he'd help found. She remembered staring at his perfectly coiffed mustache between her parents' legs as they showed her the house and introduced her to the children.

"Be grateful for what you have," they told her. "Most people are not born with the advantages you have. Never forget that."

When they stopped at a corner pub near her hotel, he ordered them two cups of earl grey, milk and sugar, and a basket of fish and chips. "I'm afraid your loft is still under renovation," he said. "This was the best I could do."

She shook her head. "This is great." She meant it.

"How long do we have you this time?" He asked, drinking his tea. "Seems you always err on the side of four hours."

"I don't know," she said. "I haven't decided. Two weeks, maybe three?"

He chuckled.

"Something funny?" She said, a mouthful of fried fish in her mouth.

"You've said that before. You never stay more than three days."

Minju looked over at the bartender. "Can I get a pint of ale?" A nod of acknowledgment. She looked at him again. "How are the kids? Are they eating well?"

"They're doing quite fine. Two are beginning to show great promise."

She smiled. "And you? Are you going to settle down any time soon? Any cute grandmas in your life that I should know about?"

He laughed.

She liked hearing him laugh.

* * *

L had been in his room, his posture unchanged, wearing the same clothes, drinking the same tea, still fiddling with its sugar contents. It was as if time had stopped. All the world could change but his room would never change.

"I'm on a call," he stated.

But she walked over to him anyway and took a seat behind him, leaning against his back. "You were right," she said. "The videos helped."

An unfamiliar voice came over the computer. "_**Thanks to your hard work, we've closed the case on the Devon murder-suicide…**_"

L betrayed little on his face, only that blank stare of perplexity, as if he were analyzing for the proper response to give her. "Did you fly all the way to tell me that?"

The voice droned on: "_**We'd like to extend an offer to fly you out and celebrate the end of—**_"

On all fours, she crawled close to him, so close that her lips made contact with his shoulder. "Have you been with anybody since I left?"

His gaze fell to her neckline. "I can't say I have." He clicked on his mic. "While I appreciate the offer, I won't be flying out. I'm afraid my time with you all has come to a close." And turned it off again.

She leaned back on her heels and took his hand while he stood from his perch by the desktop, towering over her.

"_**Damn, that's too bad. The mayor was in talks to throw a parade—**_"

She suddenly felt very shy, unsure of the right words. She stood up but found it difficult to meet his gaze. "Would you…still want me?"

He cocked his head to the side, studying her face carefully; again, he revealed so little of his inner machinations that it nearly came across as indifference.

"I suppose."

Surprised, she felt her hands go cold and clammy. But he gave her a squeeze, ever so slightly.

"_**Hey, uh, L, you still there**_?"

She went on her tiptoes to try and kiss him, but he beat her to the punch. His mouth came crashing down on her clumsily as he slipped two fingers behind her neck to pull her closer.

His tongue tasted like sugar, so instantaneous and urgent and _wet_. She unraveled at once as his fingers crawled up the back of her dress, undoing each clasp daintily. They rocked back into the ground as he pressed his lips hesitantly on her bare neck.

"_**Some of the guys here wanted to voice their thanks. Man, it's been almost twenty years since we were tasked with the case. All those missin' birthdays and baseball games**_—"

L kicked his desktop.

It shut off and fell to its side with a clunk.

He peeled off his shirt. He was sinewy and thin, but not as thin as she was; his arms were lean, his skin was pale, and a faint little happy trail traveled from his belly button to the hem of his jeans. When she touched his shoulder, she noticed that her skin was hot against his.

It looked like he wasn't sure what to do with her nakedness, though that came as little surprise to her. When he wasn't moving at a hundred miles an hour, he had a tendency to come up empty.

He didn't own a proper bed in his office, only some semblance of a sleeping mat in one corner of the room, covered with sheets and pillows. She took a seat at the edge, naked except her panties, suddenly feeling very nervous.

A cool chill ran down her spine as he lowered himself over her, pressing her gently into the mat. She felt his weight press against her, his breath soft against her face. He smelled…sweet. "You're sure you want to do this?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Your body language suggests you're tense," he said. "Your arms are folded and you haven't looked me in the eye since we kissed."

She was suddenly very aware of the fact that she was completely naked before him, skin and bones.

"I'm just nervous."

"About?"

She'd fucked her fair share of men, enough to have lost count. She had liked some of them, but that didn't necessarily make the sex good. Likewise, the ones she didn't care much about made for fantastic hate sex. But after a while, the novelty and suspense of screwing someone new wore off.

"Nothing," she breathed. "Just kiss me."

He leaned down to kiss her again, trailing his mouth down the skin of her chest and stomach until he reached the peak between her thighs. "Oh, you don't have—"

A groan escaped her parted lips. "Ah… fuck—"

He peered up. "Should I stop?"

Why was it that even the smartest men could ask the dumbest questions?

A different kind of groan came from her mouth: "No!"

He pushed her legs apart.

She whimpered as he slid a single finger inside her, then two. His tongue massaged the peak between her thighs gently, _slowly_, until she came. She was nearly on the verge of tears; it'd been so long since another man had her cumming with his mouth. When it was over, she laid there, endorphins running high in her veins, her pulse threatening to beat out of her neck.

Then she looked up, "Who taught you that?"

L wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I've done a fair bit of research."

The thought of L watching porn to study was somehow…cute. As she felt her strength return to her limbs, she crawled up onto her knees and pushed him gently into the mat. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, a trail of kisses down his neck.

She straddled him.

The first time she met him was in the courtyard of Wammy's House. She had been showing off her new chess set, taking challengers wherever and whenever she could. He had been lurking, mostly minding his own business, until she had defeated everyone who offered to play. He decided to take on the challenge, despite having never played before.

He defeated her on his first try.

So she gave him her precious chess set as a gift.

She'd come to be rather enamored with him. She begged her parents to take her to Wammy's House every weekend. When he wasn't busy with cases, she was attached to him at the hip. "You're a tumor," he'd say. "I'm being followed by a tumor."

When they became teenagers, things changed. Older boys started noticing her. She noticed them too. For what it was worth, she enjoyed the attention. But she'd always been fond of him. That never stopped. At some point, she'd become curious. The only person she trusted enough to take her virginity was him.

His erection pressed against her inner thigh, warm and stiff. She guided him inside her until he filled her whole.

A soft groan escaped her lips as he came all the way in. His fingers came up her sides until they rested on her waist. Clumsily.

She bucked her hips slowly.

He uttered the softest, most guttural gasp as she rode him. His fingers grasped at her sides, but she didn't mind.

She rocked like that, bucking her hips gently, as her wetness soaked him inside her. He was fairly quiet, only every once in a while, uttering a soft groan, until he was on the verge of reaching his climax. Only then did he squeeze her tightly. "Faster," his voice was barely a whisper. "Faster."

Faster and faster she went until she was bent over him, her breath hot against his neck. He dug his fingers into her back, so desperate and urgent that it pained her.

When he came inside her, he draped his arms over her back and squeezed her tight. For a moment, she laid like that on his chest, his cock going soft inside her. They shared a tender moment, lying in cold sweat as the cold breeze of the air conditioner hummed behind them.

Then.

"What would it take for you to stay?"

His voice was startlingly soft as he ran a single finger through her hair.

She could feel his pulse restless in his neck. "I don't know," she admitted. "What do you think?"

A moment of silence. His bangs fell over his eyes. "Money's no objection. Your parents made sure of that with your trust fund," he said. "You have enough journalists who can run point on exposing these fiends without you. So it's not particularly a matter of duty. You've never liked living in Korea, but that gives more leniency to staying home in England." He chewed on his thumb, staring up at the ceiling in that childlike way. "Boyfriend?"

"If I said yes, would that bother you?"

"Not particularly, no."

_He just asked me what it would take for me to stay_,' she thought listlessly. "There's no boyfriend," she said. When she leaned over to kiss him on the forehead, he blushed. "I'll be around as long as you want. As long as you'll have me."

His arms wrapped around her tighter. "I'll admit I find what you say hard to believe."

* * *

She decided to take Wammy to the London Eye. "Let's be tourists in our own city, old man," she'd told him with a cheerful smile. For what it was worth, it made him smile, and he'd said he was overdue for some sunshine.

It rained, of course.

Even so, they watched the people from above as they turned from humans to barely ants, moving in that perfect assembly line. "Do you ever get to make time for yourself? Or has babysitting become your life's passion?"

"When you get to my age, you'll find that time to yourself is simply just… a commodity."

She looked at him, skeptically. "Time is just a distraction," she said. "And we're just moving pieces, sailing from one distraction to the next. Some people drink, some people screw, some people…eat sweets."

"You're young," he chuckled. "I'm not surprised you think like that."

Drops of rain raced down the side of the glass pod. She traced them with her fingertips.

"Be kind to him, will you?" Wammy smiled, taking a seat on the bench. "He's grown fond of you in his own way."

She took a seat next to him and held his hand. "He told you that?"

"No." He smiled, giving her hand a squeeze. "He has too much pride."

* * *

Minju rolled over to face L while he pulled on his shirt, hands popping through the proper holes. She observed him carefully, finding comfort in this strange routine of his. It didn't take long for him to return to his computer.

She wrapped the sad mop of sheets around her naked torso and approached him. "I have a question for you."

He picked up his teacup that sat flat on the floor. "I'd prefer if you'd simply state your question instead—"

"Do you love me?"

He looked at her, eyes heavy as he began to lift the cup to his lips. "I suppose I do harbor a certain level of attraction towards you. I don't know if I would be so crass as to call it love, but I'm afraid those feelings exist in one way or another."

With sheets wrapped around her torso, she made her way over and sat right behind him so that she was leaning against his back. "I would be a terrible girlfriend, you know."

"I'm not sure I would fare much better. I'd be unable to fulfill many of the obligations required to be a proper boyfriend."

"Maybe that means we're meant to be."

He looked at her. He smiled.

* * *

When he returned to his case, she decided to get up and wander around his loft. It was large, but mostly empty, boxes piled up in one corner as if he'd never unpacked. The mess bothered her, so she began to peruse them at her own pace. None of them were labeled, so she started with the ones that were already open.

There were at least a dozen albums and photocards of various idols. Had she known he was such a big fan, she would've given him some signed copies. Otherwise, it was mostly essentials: blankets, lamps, shoes, kitchenware. Essentials for normal humans, but not for him. She paused when she came across an old _Cupid Coupe _album. Jimin sat front and center, the main visual of the group, carrying with her a baton of some sort.

She looked happy.

Clutching the album to her chest, she decided to head to his bedroom, an unused master suite sitting on the top floor of the loft.

When she entered it, she found an unpacked mattress, along with the skeleton of a bedframe.

Her chess set sat on a coffee table, all the pieces perfectly lined up.

Her phone buzzed.

_Hayoon: Have something that might interest you. Give me a call when you get the chance._

* * *

L had his eyes closed. He was deep in thought.

Or maybe he was sleeping.

"Let's do something today," Minju said, leaning against his back gently. "How about an amusement park? Or maybe we can take the train to Paris? What about Disney?"

He opened his eyes.

"Your change in behavior…suggests you plan to leave."

She looked away and hugged her knees to her chest.

"I'll be back."

He didn't look back around. "I know."

"We have voice comms, too."

"Like I've said before, that line is for emergencies only."

He betrayed little on his face, only indifference.

"That's never stopped me before."

"I suppose it hasn't."

She felt his breathing, calm and unmoving. Each time his back rose, she rose too. They breathed in sync; for a while, maybe that was alright with her. She wanted to say something, _anything_ to reassure him, but he didn't seem like he needed it. So she continued leaning against him, listening to the sound of his breathing.


End file.
